


miracles of the heart and hand

by sophie_scribblz



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, Lots of kissing, M/M, No Smut, Pining, Training Camp, Ushijima POV, What am I doing, god this is so sappy, im not sorry, oh no there's only one bed what are we going to do, only fluff, semi is DoneTM, this is so self indulgent oh my god, ushijima likes tendou's hands, yeah thats kind of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophie_scribblz/pseuds/sophie_scribblz
Summary: Tendou’s hands are special. Expressive. They tell their own story.Wakatoshi has known this for, well, quite some time, now. Since the first time he met Tendou, on his first day of high school at Shiratorizawa.Tendou had waltzed right up to him, introducing himself loudly with confidence that the others shrunk away from. The only thing about him that wasn’t confident were his hands, which fiddled with a loose thread that hung from his gym shorts — and then fiddled with each other.Now, Wakatoshi might not look it or act like it, but he is a perceptive person. So he picked up on this disconnect that appeared again and again right away, and eventually, it became the central part of the image he built around Tendou over the next three years. A boy whose hands tell the truth when the rest of him lies.(or: shiratorizawa goes on that trip that me and my dojo were supposed to go on this summer and ushijima realizes some things)
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 24
Kudos: 368





	miracles of the heart and hand

**Author's Note:**

> ohh my god i can't believe i wrote this its so goddamned sappy

Tendou’s hands are special. Expressive. They tell their own story.

Wakatoshi has known this for, well, quite some time, now. Since the first time he met Tendou, on his first day of high school at Shiratorizawa. The other new members had avoided him, maybe because of how he held himself, in a way that screamed power and dominance, or maybe because of the serious look in his eyes that was always half-hidden by jagged bangs. Either way, the new members avoided him.

Not Tendou, though. No, Tendou waltzed right up to him, introducing himself loudly with confidence that the others shrunk away from. The only thing about him that wasn’t confident were his hands, which fiddled with a loose thread that hung from his gym shorts — and then fiddled with each other. 

Now, Wakatoshi might not look it or act like it, but he is a perceptive person. So he picked up on this disconnect that appeared again and again right away, and eventually, it became the central part of the image he built around Tendou over the next three years. A boy whose hands tell the truth when the rest of him lies.

When they walk to the dorms together after practice, Tendou spins bright stories with bright eyes, but his hands swing limp by his sides and that’s how Wakatoshi knows he’s tired. When they have a big test coming up and they’re studying late at night, Tendou hums a cheerful tune but his fingers shake when he turns over his study guide and that’s how Wakatoshi knows he’s nervous. When they lose at nationals, Tendou’s face barely falls but his fists clench hard and that’s how Wakatoshi knows he’s frustrated.

Secretly, deep down, Wakatoshi considers this little quirk of Tendou’s endearing beyond measure. He can’t bring himself to name the reason that Tendou’s incredible blocks squeeze his chest, or the reason that his face feels warm after Tendou wraps his arms around his shoulders and Wakatoshi breathes him in, or the reason that his mind sometimes asks him what Tendou’s lips would feel like on his own. 

He knows the reason, but he won’t name it.

Naming it makes it real.

The ball hits his hand, hard, and thunders down onto the opposite court. It barely misses the lights at the top of the far wall. Sixty-seven serves down; thirty-three left to go. 

Thoughts of Tendou bring a sort of frustration with them, because it just feels stupid that something this important in Wakatoshi’s life should be beyond his control. He can choose most everything else, but not this, not the thing that keeps him up at night and makes his heart thump when he sees one of the kanji for Tendou’s name written across a street vendor's sign or on an overpass. Not the thing that makes his mind and body ache with loneliness in his empty bed.

“Careful, Wakatoshi-kun~. You get any stronger an’ ya might hit the ceiling!” Tendou trills from across the gym, to which Wakatoshi gives a curt nod.

Then Tendou’s laughing, his head bent close to Semi’s who smirks, too, eyes flickering to Wakatoshi for just a moment and something cold squirms in Wakatoshi’s gut.

Bam. Thirty-two serves left to go.

He does knock a light this time.

  
  
  


At the start of their third year, Tendou and Wakatoshi requested to be roommates, to which the administration approved of and allowed. After all, it was no secret that they were the most powerful players on Shiratorizawa’s volleyball team.

That was back when Wakatoshi was happy with the title ‘best friend.’ Back when he didn’t crave more. 

It’s a little bit of a problem, to say the least. Tendou is in his life, every day, all the time because they’re best friends and they live together. In the bunk above his every morning, sitting beside him at the cafeteria with hands that move heavy as he eats. In his second, fifth, and sixth period, at practice, and in the bunk above his every night. Tendou is always there.

So Wakatoshi has no out. No way to take a break to get over his feelings, maybe, or at least to calm them down. Just him and this boy, this boy who makes him fall in love a little more every day. 

(There, he said it. Love.)

  
  
  


The summer of his third year, Shiratorizawa holds a training retreat in the mountains for two weeks. Saito-sensei said that the house had been in the family for generations, but this year was the first year that Shiratorizawa had approved the trip. Tendou talks about it for fifteen minutes straight at dinner. 

Finals end and it’s the first night that he’ll sleep without Tendou in months because Shiratorizawa sends them home for the summer. Dinner is too quiet, and his bedtime routine is too quiet, and the stillness after the lights go out is much too quiet.

His phone’s ringer cuts through that quiet, and Wakatoshi falls asleep with Tendou’s voice in his ear, tangy through his cheap phone’s speakers. 

  
  
  


On June seventeenth, the team piles into Shiratorizawa’s van, mouths wide around their yawns. The sky outside is clean with sunrise.

Tendou sits beside Wakatoshi immediately, smile blinding and voice loud. The car starts up and he tells Wakatoshi story after story of the week and a half they spent apart and Wakatoshi listens, eyes soft and heart thrumming.

An hour into the ride, Tendou falls asleep on his shoulder, his fingers curled ever-so-slightly around Wakatoshi’s where they rest on the seat between them. Wakatoshi hopes that it means what his logical mind tells him it doesn’t.

But, as his logical mind also notes, if Tendou sleeps too long like that, he’s going to get a crick in his neck.

So, carefully, Wakatoshi reaches into his backpack and tugs out his pillow, which he places between him and the wall of the bus. He shifts slowly, pulling Tendou with him as gently as he can manage until he sits comfortably, half lying down, his legs across their seats and Tendou’s face tucked up against his neck. Tendou doesn’t stir. 

Being in love with Tendou Satori is strange, Wakatoshi thinks. His gaze gets lost in the rise and fall of the landscape outside the van’s window. Being in love with Tendou Satori means finding his songs and gestures and wild facial expressions endearing, or even cute, instead of creepy. It means seeing softer sides of him, sadder sides, sides he keeps carefully hidden that barely show themselves in the way his shoulders slump when someone in the audience calls him Shiratorizawa’s monster for the hundredth time. It means holding him, late at night when his body shakes with sobs because he’s opening up about his past, for once. It means accepting the boy who craves acceptance. 

Wakatoshi does all these things readily, without question. Tendou Satori.  _ His  _ Tendou Satori. 

He looks over at him now; at the smooth shadows his eyelashes cast over his cheekbones, at the way his nose scrunches just a little every now and then, at the barely-there freckles that sprinkle over his face like stardust.

Being in love with Tendou Satori is strange, but Wakatoshi thinks that nothing has ever made so much sense. 

  
  
  


Four hours later, the van arrives at the cabin. The engine shuts off and chatter picks up; Goshiki, especially, who just can’t seem to contain his excitement at the idea of the training camp. It’s nearly noon.

Tendou makes a low humming sound against Wakatoshi’s chest, then cracks an eye open. “Y’ make a good pillow, Wakatoshi-kuuuun,” he says, words slurred.

Wakatoshi tries to make sure his smile isn’t too fond. “We have arrived. It’s time to get up, Tendou.” 

Tendou grumbles. “Figured, what with Tsutomu-kun yellin’ n all that.” His eyes close again.

Semi raises his eyebrows as he walks by their row, but the rest of their teammates go without a second glance. Then the bus is empty, save for them, and a few seconds pass in silence.

“Tendou, we must get up now.”

“Wakatoshi-kun, noooo.”

“Everyone else is choosing rooms and roommates. Come on.”

“Just figured we’d be roommates,” Tendou mumbles. “Why bother w’th the whole sleepin chart.” 

Wakatoshi sincerely hopes that Tendou can’t hear his heartbeat. “We might get a bad room,” he points out, even though everything in him tells him to stay right here with Tendou.

“Not the end of the world.”

“Tendou.”

“Fine, ‘m getting up,” Tendou says, then yawns big and pulls himself off of Wakatoshi. The spot he leaves feels cold. “Hey, ‘Toshi, how’d we end up like this?”

“I figured that if you slept too long with your head on my shoulder, you would get an ache in your neck.” Wakatoshi answers immediately, easily.

Tendou hums, then slings his duffle bag over his shoulder and heads out of the van, stretching as he goes. Wakatoshi follows.

“Ushijima-kun, Tendou-kun, there you are.” Washijo-sensei spits the words as if they cut up his mouth. “Go help with unloading. You two will have to take the last room.”

  
  


Oh.

That's why it’s the last room. It only has one bed. 

The rest of the room is nice, Wakatoshi supposes. It’s westward window stretches across the wall, a barely-there barrier between them and the lake that sparkles bright in the sun. The bathroom’s down the hall and the stairs just a tad farther, and the second floor rooms have balconies, too.

Tendou flops down onto the bed, arms raised above his head. His duffle bag lies forgotten at the door. “This is awesome, isn’t it? So much better than our dorms!” 

Wakatoshi’s gaze is still on that bed. That traitorous, single bed. “There’s only one bed,” he says out loud.

“So?”

“Um,” as much as Wakatoshi would love to sleep next to Tendou, he really doesn’t think that it’s a very good idea. “Maybe I can get a futon?”

“Nah, who cares?” Tendou waves a hand at him dismissively. “You’re gonna be all sore n tired after the day; we’ll just sleep in the same bed. ‘S not that different.”

Right. Not that different. (The truth, to Tendou)

“...Okay.”

  
  
  


Washijo-sensei sends them on a ten-kilometer run through the forest, after they settle in. Through the mountains behind the cabin, Wakatoshi runs at a pace not too brisk, careful not to tire himself. After all, they will spend the rest of the day cleaning the lake house.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?”

Wakatoshi looks back at Semi, who’s breathing hard to keep up with him. Wakatoshi slows his pace.

“Go ahead,” Wakatoshi says.

“Ushijima, you like Tendou.” Semi says it like a fact, which Wakatoshi supposes it is.

He looks at the ground. “I am not ashamed to admit my love for him.”

“ _ Love?  _ Damn,” Semi says, seemingly to himself. A moment passes, then another. “Don’t break his heart, Ushijima. He’s hurt enough as it is.” With that, Semi slows further, leaving Wakatoshi running alone.

Don’t break his heart?

Is Tendou’s heart at risk of breaking?

(The day passes like that, with chores then training and then more chores, and Wakatoshi’s mind stays on that conversation with Semi.)

The sun sets and Shiratorizawa gathers around the dining table, talking slow and sleepy. Shirabu leans heavily against Semi, eyes closed, and Semi looks just about ready to pass out, too. Yamagata and Kawanishi speak lowly to each other, with drooping eyes and private smiles. Goshiki has his head on the table and hasn’t moved in nearly ten minutes. 

Tendou sits beside him, always beside him, eyes half-lidded but his fingers drum a rhythm on his thigh. 

They eat, then pairs begin splitting off. The sound of doors closing softly is met only with cicadas. 

He and Tendou leave, too, eventually. Tendou talks softly as they get ready for bed and Wakatoshi listens, always listens, even when the lights go out and his eyelids drag shut. 

  
  
  


He wakes up to the sound of heavy breathing, when the moon is still up and the stars still out. Tendou mumbles beside him, his brow drawn together and sweating.

“Tendou.” Wakatoshi murmurs, then louder, “Tendou, wake up.”

Tendou’s eyes fly open, sweeping the room and then settling on Wakatoshi’s face. Teartracks glisten on his cheeks. “Wakatoshi-kun,” he says, but it sounds like a plea. He reaches towards Wakatoshi with shaking hands.

“I’m here,” he murmurs. He pulls Tendou to him then, wishing that wrapping his arms around this beautiful boy could shield him from all the hurt and pain. Wakatoshi buries his fingers in Tendou’s hair and Tendou grips the front of his t-shirt, tears falling quietly into the night.

As the square of silver-white light shifts across the floor, Tendou stills, eventually. “‘M sorry; I usually get nightmares the first time I sleep somewhere unfamiliar.”

“What did you dream of?” Wakatoshi asks, voice soft.

“Something horrible,” Tendou responds, and Wakatoshi leaves it at that. 

  
  
  


When dappled sunlight through Wakatoshi’s eyelids brings him back to consciousness, the first thing he notices is that there are still hands fisted in his t-shirt. The sound of their teammates moving around is muffled and far-away through the walls, and the trill of birdsong drifts through the open window.

And Tendou sleeps, eyelashes fluttering.

Wakatoshi doesn’t need to know how long he stays there, in the hush of morning, with Tendou in his arms.

He does know that being here with Tendou brings a sort of peace he wishes he could always have; this is a sight he wishes he could see every morning, and this is a feeling that he wishes could always be within his grasp. 

So, in this moment, the only one he gets, Wakatoshi holds Tendou a little tighter, twirling the ends of his hair around his fingers. He leans in a little closer, until he can feel Tendou’s breath across his neck and the scent of Tendou’s laundry detergent drifts into his world. He breathes a little deeper, because soon the spell will break and he’ll never get to feel this again.

Tendou’s hands are still fisted in his t-shirt, but they always tell the truth, right?

His alarm goes off.

Tendou takes a deep breath and his eyes open slowly, squinting a little. Then he smiles. “Mornin’, Wakatoshi-kun,” he says, voice sleep-heavy. 

“Good morning, Tendou,” Wakatoshi replies. (He wants Tendou’s smile to be the first thing he sees every morning).

There’s a fleeting moment, then, when he looks at Tendou and Tendou just looks back, open and honest.

But the moment ends. “Ugh, can we turn that thing off please? It’s so  _ loud _ .” 

Wakatoshi smiles a little, replying, “of course,” and pulling away, feeling as though he’s losing something. Tendou’s hands release him. 

  
  


They go about their morning, starting with an intense stamina building workout right after breakfast, and Wakatoshi thinks it’s a one-off that Tendou’s hands seemed to want to hold him, even if he desperately hopes it isn’t. He does his best to push that hope from his mind.

Next come practice matches, and Wakatoshi plays against Tendou. He stops seven of Wakatoshi’s spikes.

Maybe it isn’t a one-off, though, because Tendou’s fingers linger on his arm after the game. They linger on his ankles when they are tasked with one hundred sit ups and Tendou holds his feet down, and they linger on his own when Tendou hands him a sandwich during lunch break. Wakatoshi doesn’t know exactly what to make of this. 

He just knows that it happens again, then again, then again after that. Tendou’s hands linger on him. 

_ Don’t break his heart. Don’t break his heart.  _ Semi’s voice echoes in his head.

Is Tendou’s heart at risk of breaking?

(Hands that tell the truth when the rest of him lies.)

  
  


Training ends earlier that day, when the tops of the trees still glow with afternoon light. The team talks loudly, playfully, meandering back to the cabin with tired limbs and wide smiles. Tendou joins them, of course, but not Wakatoshi. He watches Tendou’s joy, bursting from him with wild gestures and loud laughs that join their teammates’. He watches, loving him.

They lounge around the common room after that, rotating out every now and then to use the showers. Some play video games, some read, some chat. It’s peaceful. Domestic. Wakatoshi sits alone on the porch, gazing out over the expanse of the lake while the sky fills with warm colors, mind turning.

Tendou was different today, wasn’t he? His hands chased after Wakatoshi. This isn’t his imagination.

Or, really, has it always been this way? Tendou always gives out touches freely, but, thinking back, Wakatoshi seems to be an exception. That is, he gets more touches than the rest. 

If that is true, then maybe—

Maybe Tendou likes him, too.

The thought sends his heart into overdrive, and that same hope he always tries to push down swells into his throat. Maybe he could have slow early mornings and cuddles and kisses and maybe he could touch and treasure and love, as hard as he wants. Maybe he could. 

He must try to figure this out.

(He needs to figure this out.)

But, as the days drag on and Wakatoshi is often left alone with no distraction but burning muscles, he does some thinking. A lot, in fact. 

He thinks mainly about Tendou, of course; his past, how he might feel now, how Semi’s words factor in. He thinks about his hands, especially, the touches they leave on his skin. Honest touches. 

He thinks that, probably, even if Tendou did like him, too, he’d never say anything. He thinks about shaky words that left Tendou’s mouth that first time he told Wakatoshi about his childhood, and he thinks that it would be hard for anyone to believe they could be reciprocated after that. (Wakatoshi wants nothing more than to prove them wrong.)

So, perhaps, it’s up to Wakatoshi to make a move.

He is willing, at least, in his imagination. He is willing to put himself out there, because being with Tendou would be worth it. Of course, this is all he has to go on, so he doesn’t have a clue where to start with a confession. He will figure it out, though.

  
  
  


On Friday, after Washijo-sensei and Saito-sensei go to bed, Reon pokes his head into their room before the lights go out.

“Hey guys, we’re going to watch a movie in Goshiki and Shirabu’s room. Want to join us?” he asks, voice hushed.

“That sounds like a blast, doesn’t it, Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendou drawls from where he’s spread out on the bed.

“I suppose it does,” Wakatoshi agrees tentatively. “Will Washijo-sensei be upset if he finds out?”

“Most likely, so I guess he can’t,” Reon says. 

“Well, I’m gonna go to the bathroom first. Go on ahead without me, Wakatoshi-kun!” Tendou brushes past Reon through the door, and the bounce in his retreating footsteps echoes into the quiet room.

Wakatoshi grabs a throw blanket, then follows Reon down the hall and Reon stops outside of the door. He looks mildly concerned. “Ushijima-kun, there was only one bed in there.” 

“Yes, and?” 

“And you didn’t get a futon?”

“Tendou said he did not mind,” Wakatoshi says, brow furrowing. “What’s it to you?”

Reon pauses for a minute, chewing his lip. “I suppose you’re right; it’s not really my business what you two chose to do with your personal time. As long as it doesn’t affect the team.”

“You make it sound as though Tendou and I are involved.”

“Are you not?”

Wakatoshi blinks. “No.”

“Oh, my mistake,” Reon laughs awkwardly. “Uh, let’s just go inside.” He opens the door.

The inside of the room is something akin to chaos. The pillows and bedding have been stripped from the bed and dumped onto the floor where the team sits, talking and laughing and pushing each other around, the title screen to some movie queued up on a laptop. There’s an assortment of other comfort items tossed around the room, such as blankets and stuffed animals, and someone’s constructed a fort in the back corner of the room.

“This is a mess,” Wakatoshi comments.

“Yes it is! That’s what makes it fun!” Yamagata calls brightly from where he’s squished between Semi and Kawanishi. 

“I’m not sure I get it.”

“Nah, ‘course you don’t,” Tendou says from behind him, voice light, then he grabs Wakatoshi’s wrist and pulls. “C’mon, let’s sit down!”

So Wakatoshi sits beside Tendou and the lights go down and someone plays the movie. The opening scene isn’t anything special, just a woman walking alone through an empty street. But when she hears a clang and goes to investigate, Wakatoshi’s blood runs cold.

Oh no. It’s a horror movie.

Wakatoshi hates horror movies.

“I don’t think I can watch this anymore,” Wakatoshi whispers into Tendou’s neck, after something startling happens and he nearly jumps four feet into the air  _ again.  _

Tendou snickers at him. “M’kayy, let’s go back to our room then,” he whispers back, then louder, “Hey guys, Wakatoshi-kun’s feelin’ a little tired, so we’re gonna head out.”

“What about the movie?” Shirabu asks, though it doesn’t sound much like he cares.

“Already seen it!” Tendou says, then he pulls Wakatoshi out of the room and into the silent hall.

Wakatoshi feels like every shadow is about to jump out at him.

“Man, you really hate scary movies, don’t you?” Tendou teases when Wakatoshi flinches at a creaking floorboard for the third time.

“I don’t much enjoy them,” he responds, voice a little shaky. “May I read some of your manga before we go to bed? Something— er, less scary.” 

Tendou laughs. “Sure thing!”

So Wakatoshi finds himself huddled up on their bed with a flashlight between them, hyper-aware of every inch of himself that’s pressed against Tendou. 

Also the fact that every now and then, Tendou’s fingers move up his arm and then back down again, as if they’re trying to soothe him. He’s not sure if Tendou is even aware he’s doing it.

“Tendou, why do you do that?” he blurts, looking away from the manga.

Tendou’s fingers jerk away. “Do what?” he asks with a smile too wide.

“You touch me, all the time. Why?” His heart is beating so fast oh god, he’s going to confess now?

“Um, I— uh, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about—” Tendou starts, but Wakatoshi cuts him off.

“Do you like me?” Wakatoshi’s not sure what’s going on and words just keep coming out of his mouth—

“Woah, there, Wakatoshi-kun, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tendou laughs, forced. “ _ Like  _ you? I mean, sure, totally as a friend, yeah!” 

“Tendou, be honest with me, please,” Wakatoshi almost begs, staring into Tendou’s eyes.

Tendou’s smile falls, and his silence speaks for itself. “We can request to change rooms, if you want,” he says quietly. 

“I don’t want that,” Wakatoshi says resolutely, and Tendou’s gaze meets his, unsure. 

“What do you mean,” Tendou says, and it sounds like barely more than a breath.

“I mean, I—” Wakatoshi clenches his jaw because too many words are tangled on his tongue, all too long and too unfeeling. “May I kiss you?” he asks instead. 

Tendou’s eyes widen, then he whispers out, “you mean that?”

“I do,” Wakatoshi says. “May I kiss you?”

“ _ Please.”  _

So, Wakatoshi leans in slowly, ever so slowly, and his lips meet Tendou’s in the middle. It’s nothing big, closed-mouthed and chaste and no fireworks go off, no explosions or symphonies, but it’s amazing in a way Wakatoshi could never have expected. It’s as though there’s this gentle warmth, deep inside, but it’s strong enough to hold against the coldest winter. It’s a thrum in his veins and a pulse in his chest; sure and permanent. It’s coming home.

Tendou’s lips are soft, softer than Wakatoshi thought they would be, but he can feel the rough edges where Tendou bites them. He can feel them tremble just a little when they part, then kiss him again, just as gently. He can feel the soft sigh that leaves Tendou when Wakatoshi kisses him back. 

“I love you,” Wakatoshi murmurs against his lips, and Tendou’s breath catches.

“I love you,” Tendou whispers, “my miracle boy.”

Wakatoshi leans in closer, pressing their lips together again. “I love you, Satori. I love you. I love you.” 

And Tendou cups his jaw with quivering hands that move into his hair and over the planes of his face, down his neck and back up again and then resting on his shoulders, and Wakatoshi knows that Tendou is saying the same thing. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> just.
> 
> ahhhhghfjdkhkhskhhk.
> 
> that is all. until next time!


End file.
